We finish both stages. Yea! Bike running great now that all timing issues are resolved. All day, ALL DAY, on the bike, then working on it at night and on and on and seriously I don’t have time to floss. Seriously. And I know that’s lame, but there isn’t time for anything but ride and work on bike and sleep less than you need by a long shot and then ride again. Today, Stage 5, was way easy, relatively, as the bike ran strong and I had the confidence in it to not spend the day listening for odd sounds. Just rode the damn thing, average speed about 50 mph, maybe a little faster than I should be going. Ten hours and about 300 miles covered on a 1923 motorcycle. Damn.
We went old school serious on the ’23, with no front brake and marginal rear breaks. My transmission is leaking in a stream and the rear break and tire are getting soaked in tranny fluid. At a short stop in country today, within a crowd of fellow Cannonballers, my rear break wasn’t going to stop me in time as a car comes about the corner in the lane I was going to take. Only option was to Fred Flinstone it with right boot hard on the brake and left boot hard on the pavement, and damn if it didn’t work on this bicycle with an engine. My boot, however, now has half the tread of the right one.
The best part of this road is the people. Seriously. I don’t even like people, but damn, these riders are making me reevaluate that. Serious humanity here, serious talent and I’m just giddy to hang with the giants. In this world, the motorcycling world, money, fame, none of that. It means doodly. Talent, wrenching talent, riding talent, all of it creates respect, not all the trappings of modern life.
I do bring my wine to our group dinner and certainly gain some cred. You can’t deny good wine, talent, and pitty the poor fool who doesn’t understand that.
Tomorrow 320 miles. Bad asses all.